


Stockholm

by ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Batman AU, Dark Belle (Once Upon a Time), Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers/pseuds/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers
Summary: Batman AU. Six months after the Enchanted Forest Massacre, surviving hostage Erzabel French is admitted to the ICU after what appears to be an especially brutal attack by her keeper. Her word written off as delirium, she is quickly scooped up by Mayor Mills who intends to play her as a pawn in Storybrooke's political games. Meanwhile the Black Swan is determined to keep her eye on the Dark One, who doesn't seem to be quite finished with Belle.Is Belle French crazy? Or is there more to the story of the prison librarian and the asylum prisoner?





	Stockholm

**Author's Note:**

> The latest entry for "Which Plot Rabbit Hole Did Shakes Fall Into?". Somehow I didn't realize the worldbuilding was going to be so intense... This is the brainchild combo of me being sick of Stockholm Syndrome being applied to Beauty and the Beast/Rumbelle and curiosity about how fitting Rumbelle into the Joker and Harley Quinn roles would look (spoiler alert: didn't really nail it). 
> 
> Heavily influenced by the Gotham t.v. series, the Nolan trilogy, "Skin Deep", "Mad Love", Suicide Squad, and Season 4 Belle. Mildly influenced by the rest of Batman The Animated Series and Once Upon a Time, plus a whole lot of other subconscious sources. 
> 
> Mood setting songs: "Crazy in Love" (50 Shades Remix) by Beyonce, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, or the hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were strained from staring out the tower window unblinkingly at the road that came up to the Dark Castle. He hadn’t moved since...oh, he didn’t know the exact time she had left yesterday, but he was pretty sure before it had gotten too dark. Now the sun was rising and his mind was full of jitters. He couldn’t go spin to try and calm himself down, or else he might miss her. So he made up a jingle to sing to himself.

 

“Be-elle loves me, this I know. Fo-or she-e told me so. My-y heart to hers belongs. I may be weak but she is strong. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me-” His voice broke, because he knew it was wrong. He knew she was fragile, so fragile, and she had never actually said the words to him. But she promised… She promised she’d come back and yet she hadn’t, and he felt if he sang it over and over then it’d come true, “...for she-e told. Me. So…”

 

III

 

“I think you should see this, Emma.”

 

If it hadn’t been Mary Margaret saying this Emma would have seriously considered turning around and going back to bed. These late nights were going to be the death of her… That or having to get up at nine when she’d sprawled out costume and all on her bed at seven. She sighed, changing her course from the fridge to the breakfast bar. Neal was already sitting there, nursing a cup of coffee.

 

“Hey girl wonder,” he mumbled, offering her the tray of bagels. She took one and dropped down onto the stool next to him, glancing at the screen at the end of the table.

 

“...six months after the riot at the Enchanted Forest, Erzabel French has resurfaced. The only hostage of the massacre, she was used as a human shield to aid the escape of the Dark One.” 

 

It cut from the newsroom to a clip that Emma remembered well enough; an aerial shot above the asylum, showing the swarm of officers at the gates. A small woman in heels and secretary-esque clothes held her hands up, begging them not to shoot. Right behind her, with one scaly hand around her throat was the convict in question, the only details visible his orange jumpsuit and wild mess of hair. 

 

“Makes her sound like the only survivor,” Neal muttered.

 

“Well it’s not like there were a ton of workers that did. I mean it’s basically her father and a handful mor-”

 

“Shush, you two,” Mary Margaret scolded from her spot near the counter, turning up the volume. 

 

“Assumed dead, Miss French was found unconscious in an alley a few blocks from Avonlea. She was rushed to the hospital where she remained in the intensive care unit overnight, treated for blood loss caused by gashes all over her body.” An image of the woman, a beaming brunette with bright blue eyes, was shown. It looked like she was just at the beach, a book in her lap and the sunlight giving her curls a halo effect, “Doctors claim that it was an animal attack, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume it was the work of her captor. We’ll update the story as it progresses.”

 

Mary Margaret flicked the t.v. off, closing the panels over it so there was nothing but a seam in the wall to show where it had been, “You can be sure the mayor will be scrambling over there now that the poor woman’s stable.”

 

Emma grimaced at the mention of basically her arch nemesis, “Leech.” She hopped off the barstool, “Mary Margaret, get the Bug, I’ll be ready in five.”

 

“No shower?” She asked.

 

“No time,” she glanced at Neal, “You coming, Skippy?”

 

“I probably should.” He grabbed a poppyseed bagel and the container of cream cheese, “I think that’s my actual job, bodyguarding.”

 

II

 

“I’m surprised you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

 

Erzabel French glanced up at him, turning her attention away from the rows of cells, “Well it’s not  _ technically _ following in your footsteps, papa; I’m not becoming a security guard.”

 

“That’s right you’re not,” he said gruffly, paying no mind to the convicts that eyed him, “And honestly even working in the library is too close for my comfort.”

 

“It's a government job being around what I love. You should be proud of me.”

 

“I AM proud of you, Belle.” He stopped, turning to face her, “...but these aren't wounded animals that you can nurse back to health. They're dangerous criminals that eat sweet girls like you for breakfast.”

 

She glanced behind him to see a dark-haired man watching her intently, “... they're sick, and they need help. This isn’t just a prison, it’s also an asylum.”

 

“An asylum that specializes in the criminally insane.” He abruptly started walking again and she jogged a few paces to keep up, “The minor offenders can go to the library under guard supervision. Heavier offenders will require you deliver them to their cells. Make sure they're on the far side when you slide the book through the meal slot; if they're too big to fit then you find a guard to go into the cell and deliver it for you. Don't tell them anything personal about yourself…” 

 

“I’ve read “Silence of the Lambs”,” she teased, “I won't let them get inside my head.”

 

“This isn't one of your books,” he snarled, “These are sociopaths in the flesh. They are arsonists and thieves and rapists and murderers and everything in between. You're not on an adventure, you’re just doing your job and praying that the doors stay locked.”

 

Belle took his hand as they rounded a corner, squeezing it, “I know the risks, papa. I’ll be careful.”

 

Maurice French didn't show his love very eloquently; Belle had learned early on that it often took the form of lectures and nagging. While her mother told her stories and dried her tears, her father taught her how to defend herself and made sure she never left home with nothing less than a full can of mace. They stayed there for a moment, with only the eye of a camera to see them. His hand reached up as if to cradle her cheek...but he merely plucked a fallen eyelash and flicked it away.

 

“I never should have let you stay in Storybrooke,” he muttered.

 

They continued away from the majority of the cells, heading deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. They hit a security checkpoint that was far more thorough than the others in the Enchanted Forest; Belle had to surrender everything she had on her, and it seemed excessive to do both an x-ray scan AND a hand wand AND a fingerprint scan.

 

“Where are we going?” She asked as they met on the other side.

 

Maurice frowned, “The West Wing.” They descended a staircase to the bowels of the asylum, lit sparsely by fluorescents, “The worst of the worst are down here,” he said under his breath and Belle shivered at the sudden chill, “The Queen of Hearts, the Camelot Killer, the Sweettooth Cannibal… Left here to rot.”

 

“You wouldn't let ME rot, now would you, darling?”

 

Belle glanced to her left and was surprised to see a thick plexiglass wall instead of the usual iron bars, the cell lit like a hospital room. A woman stood near the meal slot, blood red lips hovering next to the ventilation holes. The stark contrast of black and white hair immediately identified her as Cruella DeVille, a woman neck-deep in rumors compared to only a handful of convictions. She leaned against the plastic, eyeing Belle.

 

“Who’s your pet there?”

 

“What, are you jealous?”

 

Belle followed the voice to the other side of the corridor, where a woman sat cross-legged on the floor. She had to do a double-take but yes, the other prisoner had a fishbowl in her lap and within the fishbowl a brilliantly-colored beta. She swirled her finger on the surface of the water to the fish’s annoyance, not bothering to look up at Cruella's reaction. 

 

Cruella straightened, clearly offended by the insinuation, “Oh please, I have much bigger fish to fry.” 

 

Belle wanted to hang back, watch to see the rebuttal, but her father walked on, paying no mind to their banter. 

 

She tried to ignore them as he did, but this wasn't the mild curiosity the inmates above showed towards a new face. It was the perverse interest of a psycho, someone already sizing you up for what you could offer them. They were high profile criminals, their front page exploits major news until the next villain stepped up to out-crazy them.

 

Her heart was racing as they came towards a dead end, the last cell far removed from the others. As they drew closer Belle still failed to see anyone occupying it.

 

Maurice’s jaw clenched, “Rumplestiltskin!”

 

There was no answer.

 

“Rumplestiltskin, show yourself!”

 

Belle took a step closer to the barrier, craning her neck to see if maybe he had found a cranny to hide away in. Maurice clicked the radio clipped to his shoulder on with one hand, the other trying to pull Belle away.

 

“We have a Code-”

 

With the grace of a cat, the prisoner dropped from the ceiling onto his feet before the partition. Belle jerked back and even Maurice startled, causing the creature to burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles, straightening up and flailing his hands like an excited child. It was such a contrast from his grotesque appearance and the setting, Belle gave a shocked guffaw. 

 

“You son of a…”

 

“Pardon your french, Mr. French,” he chirped, “Surely you know better than for such language in front of...ladies.”

 

His eyes flicked from Maurice to Belle and she met his reptilian gaze. He silently took her in and she found herself holding her breath, trying to hide the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Is she adopted?” He asked, keeping his attention on her, “I have a hard time believing such a beauty is your flesh and blood. Uh uh uh.” He waggled his finger as she opened her mouth, “A magician never reveals his secrets. I make it my business to know things; secrets are worth their weight in gold.”

 

“She is the new librarian,” Maurice cut in, “You will listen to her the same as any staff member, or there will be severe consequences.”

 

“Oh,  _ severe _ consequences, I see; I was assuming they’d be mildly inconvenient consequences,” His gaze trailed down her body, resting somewhere on her hips, “...good. The former librarian didn’t like me very much for some reason. I hope we can be…” It moved up to her chest, “...close friends, Beauty.”

 

“All depends on how you behave, Dark One,” she said and his attention snapped back to her face, “I don’t suffer time-wasters.”

 

He smirked, “...no, I don’t see that at all, dearie.”

 

Belle felt a hand clamp around her arm as Maurice practically dragged her away, muttering a harsh “we have to go”. She still felt Rumplestiltskin’s eyes on her as she struggled to keep up with her father, fighting the temptation to glance back.

 

“Don’t you forget about me now, Beauty!” He cried shrilly, “I have quite a lot of reading to catch up on! Save me, Belle French, you’re my only hope!”

 

She didn’t know how he knew her name; she didn’t even have her i.d. tag yet. Maybe he had somehow studied up... But such details about the Enchanted Forest’s guard staff couldn’t be easy to get ahold of, right? And why was she more curious about the imp that scarcely resembled a man than terrified of him, especially knowing all he was capable of?  _ Years _ had been spent trying to track him down and incarcerate him; his kill list was easily one if not the longest in the city. And yet, there was something charismatic about his mannerisms that spoke to her.

 

She had just got done assuring her father she knew better… But here was an enigma too tantalizing to ignore.

 

III

 

Emma Charming was not the sort of person who could slip in undetected anywhere; price of being Storybrooke’s wealthiest heiress. Honestly she didn't even know she was anyone but a foster kid who couldn't keep a home to save her life until the founders of the Charming Corporation were murdered and their will pointed to her as their next of kin. It had taken some time to figure things out, but with her foster siblings and the closest people she had to family, she managed not to bankrupt the company that she had taken on.

 

The only mystery she had left was why they had given her up in the first place.

 

Neal and Mary Margaret flanked her protectively while the media’s attention turned away from hounding the hospital staff to questioning the billionaire heiress's unexpected arrival. She ignored the camera flashes, the shouting and the microphones as she went to inquire where Miss French was. The nurses, who had been cold and tight-lipped to the journalists, quickly offered to show Emma to the room.

 

“She's stable,” The nurse confided once they had put some distance between them and the lobby, “Lost a lot of blood though… And a few bites taken out of her.”

 

“Bites?” Neal echoed.

 

She nodded solemnly, “Arms, legs, torso…” Her chin quivered, “I mean, it's obvious he’s not human, but to actually see the damage…”

 

She’d seen worse, Emma told herself. Everyday people dying in the most brutal ways imaginable at the hands of creeps like the Dark One. A few bites were nothing compared to a body post Jafar hypnosis.

 

The nurse had them wait outside while she checked on the freshly-free hostage. They glanced at each other, holding a silent conversation as they wondered what exactly they should be bracing themselves for. When she returned, she ushered them in.

 

There were no other patients in the room; just a single woman with long brown hair staring out the window. She turned as they came in, claw marks down one side of her face and a black eye on the other. Her split lips puckered in an “oh” as she recognized Emma.

 

“Miss Charming. I should’ve realized this would catch your eye.”

 

“Survivors tend to get a lot of attention,” she said dismissively, taking a seat next to the bed, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Been better,” she joked. Her smile wavered, “I should probably just be glad I’m alive, right?”

 

“No, you can whine a little,” she assured her, leaning onto the arm of the chair, “...how did you get away, Miss French?”

 

“It’s Belle,” she corrected softly, “And I...I don’t remember. I...passed out… Someone must have brought me here.”

 

Well it wasn’t the Dark One, Emma thought bitterly. Front desk would have definitely noticed if it had been.

 

“Do you remember the attack?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

Belle stared straight ahead, fingers curling into the sheets, “I was on my way back… I don’t know which street it was, just downtown, next to Mr. Gold’s Pawnshop… I thought I saw someone in the alley so I went to investigate…” Her eyes welled up with tears, “And then they were on me… I don’t even know where they came from...biting and shaking and clawing…”

 

“So you escaped from the Dark One,” Emma said.

 

Belle was snapped back to the present, perplexed by the statement. “I didn’t escape.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, “...he let me go.”

 

It was Emma’s turn to be confused. The Dark One had held her hostage for months… Why would he suddenly let her go? If he wanted to get rid of her he could’ve just killed her; he wasn’t above that. Unless he was cruelly giving her the illusion that he had let her go only to punish her, an elaborate ploy.

 

Her eyebrows knit together as she read Emma’s silence, “...you think he did this to me,” she said.

 

“He probably did,” she admitted.

 

She shook her head vehemently, “No...no he would never… He’s not like that.”

 

“He used you as a human shield.”

 

“Because he knew…” She twisted towards the IV in her arm, picking at the bandages that held it in place, “I have to go back, he’s going to be worried.”

 

Emma rounded the hospital bed, “Belle.”

 

“No you don’t understand, I promised him!”

 

Emma rested her hand over Belle’s and she jerked back as though she had struck her instead. She glared up at her, a cobra ready to strike.

 

“I. Need. To. Leave.”

 

“Nurse!” Mary Margaret called. 

 

Belle sprang to her feet much quicker than Emma anticipated from a woman recovering from an animal attack. She held her by the forearms as she fought against her, machines insisting that something was wrong as Belle thrashed around.

 

“You don’t understand!” She cried, “If I don’t go back he’ll start looking for me! He’ll burn this city to the ground-”

 

“He won’t,” Emma said sternly.

 

“You can’t promise that! You can’t promise anything when it comes to him, only I can!”

 

The nurse entered and Emma shifted around to let her get closer. Belle struck out weakly, attempting to shove her arms away.

 

“I won’t go back to sleep!” She sobbed, “I need to see him… I need to see him…”

 

“We know, sweetie,” The nurse said dully, exposing a vein to administer the tranquilizer.

 

It worked quickly. After a few long seconds Emma felt the small brunette sink against her. With the help of the nurse they set her back into the bed, covering her up.

 

“I didn’t think she was that out of touch,” Emma confessed apologetically. 

 

The nurse didn’t seem surprised by the outburst and she wondered if it had happened before, or if she was just used to that sort of behavior at Storybrooke General.

 

“They think she’s gotten Stockholm’s syndrome,” she said, checking the monitors as they settled back down to their normal levels, “You know, when the victim falls for the captor. Apparently it’s pretty common.”

 

“Who thinks this?”

 

“The therapist assigned to her case, and Mayor Mills.”

 

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret and noticed her pursed lips. It figured Regina was in the middle of this. 

 

II

 

Belle was surprised how fast she adapted to her new job at the Enchanted Forest. Within a few weeks she had a good idea of which inmates had no interest in books, which ones actually did, and which ones just wanted to waste her time. There were an odd lack of challenge to dealing with them… The only one who caught her curiosity was the Dark One.

 

“Now Keith, I know you don’t want to check any novel out,” she lightly scolded as he tried to get her attention, shifting her tablet to her other arm. She didn’t have to look back to know he was glaring at her, furious she wasn’t giving him the attention he wanted.

 

If his pick-up lines were any indication, he had been in here for awhile.

 

As she made her way towards the final check point, her heart fluttered. The Dark One continued to intrigue her, a mix of contradictions and opposites. Arguably the most dangerous man here, he had no escape attempts on his record. There was one assault but he had left the guard alive despite the dozens of murders he had committed outside of the Enchanted Forest. Was the isolation taming him, or was he simply biding his time?

 

“Darling… Darling!”

 

Belle kept her eyes focused ahead, ignoring Cruella De Ville. She didn’t want to check out whatever sordid material she was interested in. She had already given her a book on taxidermy and the Donner Party; she didn’t want to see what came next. Cruella hit the glass with her fist as she continued to shout after her, causing the Sea Witch to snicker at the scene.

 

Finally, she came to the last cell on her route, her stomach flipping as she saw she was anticipated. He was standing with his hands behind his back, grinning at her in a way that promised trouble.

 

“Hello Rumplestiltskin.”

 

“Mm, hello dearie. I have something to give back to you.”

 

“Finished already?”

 

“Oh I couldn’t put it down. Not that there’s much else to do.” He frowned and glanced up, “Come to think of it, it’s been something like three days since I’ve last counted the ceiling tiles.”

 

Belle smirked, “Well, you know the drill. Set it by the meal slot and then go to the other side of the cell.”

 

He frowned, “But what if it falls on the floor?”

 

“I know there’s a shelf just in front of the meal slot; you’ve done this before,” she gestured towards the mentioned shelf on his side of the glass.

 

Rumplestiltskin glanced at it, then looked back at her with full, concerned eyes, “I don’t trust it.”

 

“You don’t trust it?” She echoed, doing her best not to smile.

 

“I just don’t. I’d rather hand it off to you directly.”

 

“I think you’re full of it.”

 

“I might be.” He went over to the slot but continued to hold the book, an inch or so above the shelf.

 

Belle shook her head, “I’m not that naive. The rules are there for a reason.” She turned to walk away, “I guess you want to keep it another day, then.”

 

“Wait! Uncle! Monkey’s uncle!”

 

She glanced back and watched as he gingerly set the paperback on the shelf, holding his hands up in surrender before retreating to the far wall. She felt a thrill of victory as she went to pull it out, her fingers momentarily in the crocodile’s den.

 

“See? The book is fine.” She held it up for him to inspect. He glanced at her with such a childishly sullen expression she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, “Now, since you returned it, would you like to pick a new one out for tomorrow?”

 

“...yes,” he decided, coming out of his corner. Belle pulled out her tablet, opening up the application that showcased the asylum’s library.

 

The weeks turned into months without her realizing it. Belle’s recommendations were getting better and better the more she got to know her patrons. All except for Rumplestiltskin, who went from one genre to another with each choice. He blazed through each book, attempting to get her to agree to let him hand it back to her each time. Each time she refused and, as penalty she supposed, he took longer and longer to pick out a new book.

 

It was starting to get rather ridiculous one day when Rumplestiltskin met Belle’s eyes and she saw him nervous for the first time.

 

“...there’s no children’s books, are there?”

 

If he hadn’t of looked so vulnerable Belle might have made a remark about how he really was trying to hit every genre under the sun. Instead she shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

 

He took a deep breath, “Is there any way I could… Have one brought in? From a library branch or something? It’s almost his birthday.”

 

“Whose birthday?”

 

“Dr. Seuss. “Green Eggs and Ham”.” She waited for him to make a quip. But all he added was, “Please. It’s important.”

 

Maybe it was shock that caused her to go track down a worn copy of the classic. Maybe it was curiosity. Either way she brought it to him the next day and he checked out no other book for a week. She arrived on the birthday of the celebrated author only to see the Dark One on his cot, rocking back and forth with the book in his lap, reading it out loud under his breath.

 

That time, when he finally was ready to give it up, she didn’t demand he set it down and move away. She wordlessly reached into the slot and, after taking a moment to comprehend, Rumplestiltskin went to give it to her. His hand purposefully brushed against hers and it felt cool and smooth, more like a snake than a crocodile. She let the touch linger for a moment before pulling away, glancing up at him as she released a breath she had been holding.

 

There was a hunger in his eyes; not the lustful gaze she was so used to getting from a lot of the inmates. A desperate desire for connection, to reach out and fulfill the undeniable need to not be alone. Belle wondered the last time he had felt that, when had he experienced someone willing to touch him and not just having to in order to do their job. Maybe he wasn’t such a monster that the isolation wasn’t affecting him… That he was a lonely man whose only interaction came from the guards and her.

 

“...thank you,” he murmured.

 

She nodded, holding the tablet up to the meal slot so he could use his own finger to search through the library’s database for his next read.

 

It was the beginning of the end of the life she knew, and the start of her journey to the Storybrooke’s darker side. 

 

III

 

Emma found Neal hadn't gone far, just to a couple chairs in the hall. He was smiling so whatever had caused him to walk out wasn't too big of a deal.

 

“Yeah but WHICH Lost Boy? I don't want to be like Nibs or something.”

 

Her heart clenched as she saw who Neal was talking to. She always felt that ache when she saw Henry, especially when he was dragged along on his mother's business. He was a bright boy, charmingly precocious for a ten-year-old but obviously damaged from Regina's overbearing child-rearing. In his lap was his ever-present book of fairy tales, his personal Bible.

 

He glanced up and smiled when he recognized her, “Hi Emma.”

 

“Hey kid,” she murmured, folding her arms, “You telling Neal here who he was before the curse?”

 

“Yup,” he chirped, completely sincere, “The book told me today he was a Lost Boy who followed the Pied Piper and once he realized what was happening he was turned into a donkey.”

 

“Hey, you didn't tell me that part!” Neal protested.

 

Emma smirked, “Well you can be an...donkey.” She caught herself just in time.

 

“An donkey? That's not grammatically correct,” Neal teased. Emma kicked him and Henry giggled, the subtext going right over his head.

 

“Miss Charming.”

 

The merriment of the moment was sucked out of the air as Regina Mills appeared, all pants suit and business. Even if child neglect wasn't part of the picture, Emma was pretty sure she’d still hate this woman.

 

“Madame Mayor, I didn't realize you were holding a press conference,” Emma said. On instinct Neal stood, his smile gone.

 

“I'm not,” she said flatly, “Though I suppose you're looking for your next pet project.”

 

“It's not a pet project. She's been through a lot, she could use a friend.”

 

“And what do you think I’m trying to do?” She took a dramatic deep breath, “There are things about Storybrooke you couldn't begin to comprehend. That monster that took her? You think he’s done with her?”

 

“That would be why he'd toss her out on the streets…” Neal muttered.

 

Regina gave him a cutting look, “I for one am not going to gamble on this poor girl’s life. She needs protection, the sort even a billionaire playgirl philanthropist can't give her.”

 

“The playgirl bit is a vicious rumor,” Emma corrected offhandedly, “What about her father? If you think the Dark One’ll be after her then surely he’ll go after him too.” 

 

“We’ll keep an eye on Mr. French,” she said dismissively, gesturing to Henry. He stood obediently, one hand taking hers, the other arm wrapped tightly around “Once Upon a Time”, “I'm sure Belle appreciates your effort, but she's in good hands.”

 

Neal snorted derisively. Emma opened her mouth to retort but Henry looked over his shoulder.

 

“Bye Emma,” he murmured.

 

The harsh words died on on her lips, “...bye, kid.”

 

Some days she just wanted to grab him and take him home with her and never let Regina touch him again.

 

A few blocks away that night Maurice French went about closing up Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership. It would’ve been the smarter thing for him to stick with his job at the Enchanted Forest; help train all the new guards who had no idea what they were in for, spend a couple more decades dealing with the scum of the earth, receive his decent retirement package at 65 and never look back. But after what had happened to Belle… He couldn’t make himself go back and he spent six months wondering if his only daughter was dead and how everything could have changed if he had only been there that day. But Belle was alive… 

 

Of course he had tried going to see her once he saw the story on the news, but she’d been labeled “dangerously unbalanced”, the staff at the hospital explained. They told him her captivity had taken its toll. They told him she was convinced she was in love with her abductor. They told him that she’d need extensive therapy, and to be kept somewhere secure lest he try to reclaim his prisoner. And so he felt more like an observer than family, kept from interfering in case he should trigger a bad reaction. They hadn’t even accepted his offer of Belle’s favorite book, and so he held it close as a substitute to her. “Her Handsome Hero”...and instead she had gotten her deformed devil.

 

He went to the back and picked up where he had left off with an old Cogsworth clock. Honestly this pawn shop was the oddest thing… A “concerned citizen” had mailed him a key after the news of his resignation had gotten out, along with the deed to the shop. Dubious at first, Maurice didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to pay his bills, and nothing had come of it yet. 

 

Until tonight.

 

He glanced up as he thought he saw something move out of the corner from his eye, “Hello?” Predictably there was no answer and yet, Maurice set down his tools and went to check the front of the store. A couple were passing by, the woman laughing so enthusiastically he could hear it through the glass.

 

“Where. Is. She?”

 

Maurice turned to see him crouched on the counter, a shadow cast by the back room’s light. His blood went cold as he watched the head tilt, teeth bared like the creature he was. There was no barrier between them; no back up that would come fast enough to save him. The Dark One was free and nothing could stop him. 

 

Maurice straightened, trying to feel for a weapon, “Even if I knew… I wouldn’t tell you.”

 

The beast lashed out before Maurice had noticed he moved, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. He braced his hands on the case and struggled to stand upright, but the monster’s grip was harder, forcing his knees to bend.

 

“That...is not a very good first sentence,” he drawled, “Now...you...are going to tell me where I can find her… Or there’s going to be a clean-up on Aisle Moe.”

 

“Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell it to the likes of you,” he glared up at him, “She's finally free of you, and soon whatever spell you put her under will be broken.” He had the satisfaction of watching the beast scowl at him for a moment before he had his head slammed down onto the display case.

 

“YOU. ARE. HER. FATHER.” He punctuated each word with another slam, “Of course you know where she is!”

 

Maurice tried to focus through the searing pain and disorientation, vaguely aware that he was bleeding. The monster pulled his head back and he had just enough time to shut his eyelid before two clawlike nails rested on either side of his eye.

 

“Moe, Moe, stubbed toe, full of woe, Woe-y Moe-y,” he sang, “Your mind’s tooooo small to understand your little girl’s a big girl now. Everyone and their cousins think she was a poor wittle hostage but you know, there was a distinct lack of locks and chains once I got her home. She could’ve escaped at aaaaaany time if she twuly wanted to… But she stayed. She stayed because she was  _ willing _ . She...she chose me…” 

 

He seemed to be lost inside of himself, and Moe thought he could use it to his advantage. But as he tried to move the claws squeezed and the pressure made stars dance against his eyelid.

 

“Shall I tell you about your daughter’s advances? I’m sure you were aware how naughty she was in the asylum. Does it torture you, how she went into my cell, without any back-up? Do you think about all the things I could have done to her, wandering into the dragon’s den so brazenly? I certainly do.”

 

“Bastard,” Maurice hissed.

 

“I’m aware.” He tightened his grip on Moe’s eye and he gasped, “Now, tell me where my beauty is or I’ll squish your peeper like a grape!”

 

There was the sound of glass shattering, then the clatter of a bell as the front door was forced open. The beast giggled, releasing his eye and turning Maurice around to face whoever had broken in.

 

“Look! It’s Miss Swan, a grown woman who dresses up in a costume and runs around doing illegal vigilantism!”

 

“As opposed to assault and battery.” The dark figure moved closer.

 

He blinked and then defended in a ridiculously innocuous voice, “I’m just looking for my girlfriend.”

 

“Let go of Mr. French before I make you.”

 

He considered it for a moment then released Maurice, “I wasn’t getting anywhere with him anyway. In-laws, am I right?”

 

There was a rush of air and a swirl of purple smoke, and when Maurice looked back, there was no trace of the mad creature.

 

“Are you alright, Mr. French?”

 

He looked at the woman clad all in black, her face obscured by a mask reminiscent of a Venetian masquerade. Her outfit was a mix of armor and fabric, letting her move freely but still protecting her vital organs. The etched feather designs and the shape of the mask confirmed it was none other than the Black Swan visiting him. 

 

“I’ve been worse,” he insisted, going to dab at the blood on his forehead with his sleeve. She brought her cape around and helped wipe it up, “He’s trying to find Belle…”

 

“He won’t,” she promised him.

 

He shook his head, “You can’t be certain of that. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

 

“No, HE has no idea what I’M capable of. That disappearing act won’t work twice, and she’s got the city of Storybrooke looking out for her,” she rested a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll protect her, and help her get well.”

 

Emma could see though that he wasn’t convinced.

 

She hadn’t seen Neal at all that night and while thankfully she hadn’t needed backup, it was weird he hadn’t immediately responded to her text about a sighting of the Dark One. When she did see him again at home, he was nursing a drink and staring at a spot on the wall. 

 

“Where were you, Boy Wonder? You missed a highly anticlimactic standoff with a Big Bad.”

 

“I was with a contact seeing if he knew where Belle had gone to,” he finished off his drink, frowning, “I don’t want you dealing with him on your own; he’s not like the rest of the crazies we deal with.”

 

“Then come with me next time.”

 

It had been an offhanded statement but Neal gripped the glass as though he were going to throw it.

 

“I don’t want to face him if I don’t have to,” he muttered.

 

He’d never been one for cowardice, but Emma felt she had pressed too hard already. He had his clammed-up face on, and asking more wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.

 

“...I do not like it, Sam I am,” he said absently.

 

“Neither do I,” she said, “Not on a boat, not on a goat.”

 

At least that managed to get him to smile.

 

II

 

Belle had gotten drunk off of power. Not in general; she was still plenty careful around the other inmates and only interacted with them as much as she needed to. But at the end of her rounds, when she neared the last cell in the furthest depths of the Enchanted Forest, her pulse quickened for a completely different reason. Her Rumple would be waiting for her, regardless of whether he was done with his book or not, and they’d waste time pretending he was debating on a new one. She enjoyed the hungry way he watched her, drawn to her like she was drawn to him. She knew he acted the predator but, when it came down to it,  _ she _ was his master. 

 

She was beginning to wonder if her lust and fondness was turning into something else, something more serious. 

 

“Belle…” She turned from where she was packing her lunch to see her father in the doorway, looking nervous. Internally she began to panic, “We need to talk.”

 

“...about what?” She asked, setting a fruit cup in the paper bag before rolling the top of it. 

 

He took a deep breath, “There are...rumors going around. That you’re...going into the Dark One’s cell.”

 

She laughed, and hoped it didn’t sound nervous, “That’s ridiculous. How would I even get a key?” By stopping by the master collection and “borrowing” it until she had a copy made. The master keys were only used when a guard forgot theirs anyway, and it had been easy enough to convince security it was for her stubborn father who wouldn’t admit he lost it.

 

“I don’t know, but you’re a clever girl.”

 

“I didn’t, papa.” She lied firmly, “I know how dangerous it is.”

 

And yet, she had done it anyway. Knowing the risks she had gone in after telling him to put his hands against the far wall, back to her. She had gone in and gingerly touched him, felt along his scaly skin and listened to how tight his breathing got as he stole glances at her.

 

He might be called a crocodile, but he had behaved like a lamb towards her.

 

“I hope you remember that,” he moved closer to her, “If anything were to happen to you…”

 

“I know, papa,” she went over and kissed his cheek, “I love you, worry warts and all.”

 

He gave her a small smile, “I love you too.”

 

She brushed past him, grabbing her coat, “Off to work I go. You want me to grab anything while I’m out?”

 

“I wouldn’t say no to a six-pack,” he said.

 

Belle giggled and shrugged her coat on, walking out the door. It was the last conversation they had before she was taken hostage.

 

The details as to how the riot began weren’t clear; something had happened to the plumbing system, so major that it distracted most of the personnel. Electricity became spotty and, in between power outages, cells started to open up.

 

Belle hadn’t gotten to her rounds yet; she was busy reshelving books when the lights flickered and died. She paused and waited; sure enough the backup generator kicked in and she continued. She managed to shelve a few more books before the power failed again, this time staying off.

 

She opened her tablet and used its light to guide herself back to the checkout desk, searching for the phone. She picked the receiver up only to hear silence, not so much as a dial tone. She went for her cell phone, trying to remember maintenance’s number… 

 

Gunshots rang out. She quickly sank behind the counter, holding her breath. The volley didn’t last long though, hopefully meaning that whatever the disturbance had been it was dealt with. She took a few deep breaths, and was just about to stand again when she heard it. Quiet at first, barely discernable, the noise grew louder and louder. Laughter. Cheering. Chanting. Shouting. Moving closer to the library.

 

The door opened and Belle jerked, wishing she had had the presence of mind to lock it. She strained to hear footsteps but whoever they were they were careful about staying quiet. She shielded the light of her phone and scrolled to her father’s number, starting to text “I lov-”.

 

The phone was smacked out of her grasp, skidding across the floor. Before she could move away a hand was on her throat.

 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” Keith growled, pressing himself against her. 

 

Belle clawed at him, but it didn’t seem to deter him. His hips ground against hers while he twisted her face to the side, running his tongue along her cheek. She struggled to breathe and to keep his free hand away from her breasts. She was beginning to feel lightheaded when he was suddenly pulled off of her.

 

Keith barely had time to process the change before his neck was snapped, body tossed aside without a second thought. Fingertips gently took her face, frantically checking her over.

 

“Pretty, pretty Belle,” he crooned, “Sweet, sweet Belle…”

 

A sob choked out of her and while she should be relieved he had come to save her… He was out of his cell. They could  _ all _ be out of their cells. She was almost… And gunshots…

 

Rumplestiltskin scooped her up, carrying her out of the library. The halls had quieted, even in the few minutes since the riot began. (Because that was what had happened, right? A prison riot?) Some of the truly insane lingered even though all of the cell doors were wide open. Blood and bodies littered the ground; not just guards, but other inmates, killed either in defense or for kicks she had no way of knowing. Belle struggled in her friend’s arms, weeping at the sudden tragedy, imagining the surviving inmates scattering like cockroaches into the city ready to bring hell to Storybrooke.

 

“Shh, shh, pretty Belle, perfect Belle,” he cooed, “You’re mine now… All mine.”

 

As they neared the entrance to the Enchanted Forest she could see the flashing lights of police cars, hear them shouting over each other. Rumplestiltskin set her down on her feet and pressed her back against his front, a hand around her throat.

 

“Just an act, my dear,” he assured her, “We have to make them believe.”

 

Belle was not acting as she was led out, sobbing at the sight of all those guns trained on them.

 

“Please, please!”  She begged as the Dark One carefully maneuvered them past the blockade, keeping her always facing the danger. She didn’t know whose life she was pleading for harder and, when she had time to reflect on it in the Dark Castle later, she realized they had been so intertwined one bullet could have possibly gone through both of them.

 

It was almost poetic, in a Romeo and Juliet morbid way.

 

III

 

Sometimes Henry felt like he was the only one who really saw things the way they were, and he wondered if it was because of his book. He hadn’t met anyone else who could read it and sometimes that scared him, like he really was crazy. But no, of course the Evil Queen would want him to think he was, because it gave her control. And if there was one thing he knew about his mother, it was that she loved control.

 

Belle had come to live with them shortly after she’d been found. His mother said it was because she wasn’t safe anywhere else; his book told him it was because of her relationship to the Dark One. Belle and the Dark One were a modern day Beauty and the Beast; he didn’t know who that made his mom in their story. 

 

Belle was...quiet, and by herself a lot, when she wasn’t in the dungeon. She didn’t seem like a person; she had no energy, and there was always a twinge of sadness around her. She was a ghost that stared out the window as if waiting for someone to come find her.

 

When he asked Archie about it during therapy, he seemed to hem and haw more than usual. He said that the mind tries to adapt to situations in order to survive, that Belle’s mind had deceived her into thinking she loved the man that had done horrible things to her. 

 

Henry asked if his mind did that. Archie admitted that it might.

 

III

 

Hook didn’t like to think of himself as easily persuaded, but he couldn’t deny he had a weakness for Baeran Gold. Well, now he went by Neal Cassidy, or “Baelfire”, which Hook failed to understand the reasoning of. At least  _ his _ moniker made sense.

 

The bloody thing was that Bae  _ knew _ he had a weakness for him, and he exploited it ruthlessly. He was his mother’s child in that regard… So when he met with Hook to ask him to check on that woman of interest’s living situation, he had reluctantly agreed, knowing that meant dealing with Regina. She wasn’t bad to look at but she was fickle and didn’t take to his charm as quickly as he’d like. 

 

He dropped by when it was convenient for him, which irked the mayor.

 

“Honestly, Hook, there’s nothing wrong with picking up the phone and calling ahead,” she scolded as she found him snooping around the hallways, not even surprised to see him.

 

Hook pouted, “That would take all the fun out of it.”

 

“What do you want, I have an appointment,” she said, brushing past him.

 

He followed her, “Rumor has it you’re the one keeping the French girl.”

 

“It’s not a rumor if I told the press directly about it.”

 

“Now why would you go and do a thing like that? Are you trying to provoke the Dark One?”

 

“He wouldn’t dare come after me,” she insisted, “You weren’t there to see how he was around her, it was nauseating,” she shook her head, “I think he’d cry if anything happened to her.”

 

“I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath. He’d probably kill her.

 

She led him down a staircase to what he imagined had been a cellar at some point. There was a chill in the air with only sporadic lighting, mostly around an exam table. A woman was bound to it, quiet and still as she stared up at the ceiling.

 

So this was Erzabel French. The crocodile certainly had a thing for dark-haired bright-eyed beauties, even if this one had much more of a baby face. She glanced lazily at them, as much as she could with her head being restrained.

 

“Who’s leather daddy?” She asked dryly.

 

He gave a small bow, “Captain Hook, at your service.”

 

She burst into a fit of giggles that, while he was used to groans and chuckles, seemed uncalled for. It persisted as Regina came closer, starting to apply electrical pads to her temples. 

 

“Honestly she’s getting as nutty as he is,” she muttered. She sighed before leaning over the incapacitated woman, “So, Belle, is today finally going to be the day you talk?”

 

“What’s there to talk about?” She retorted, “How useless this is? How it’s only stroking your feminine rage boner?”

 

Regina turned on a machine that Hook hadn’t paid much notice to. It was small, but with some intimidating looking gauges and knobs. Belle’s nervous giggles died on her lips.

 

“What do you know about the Dark One?”

 

“...I don’t know anything,” She said quietly, her voice quivering slightly. 

 

“You were his captive for six months,  _ surely _ you picked up on something.” Regina’s fingers traced a dial.

 

Belle’s hands clenched into fists, “Not a thing.”

 

“I think we need to jog your memory…”

 

Hook wasn’t stupid; he had a good idea of what sort of machine she was attached to before Regina twisted the dial. But to watch the poor woman suddenly convulse and scream in agony quickly put him off whatever apathy he had come into the situation with. It was perhaps a few seconds of electrical current, but he felt trapped in those slivers of time. 

 

Her body went slack as she gasped for air. Madame Mayor seemed hardly perturbed, “What can you tell me about Rumplestiltskin?”

 

“He has horrible morning breath! You could weaponize it!” 

 

Belle hardly had the time to chuckle at her joke before Regina rolled her eyes and twisted the dial further along the scale. Hook must’ve counted ten seconds before Belle’s body collapsed again.

 

“You tell them you keep me here to protect me.” The words tumbled out of Belle’s mouth as she tried to rock from side to side, “You put up an act with me like it’s for information, but really you just want to keep me away from anyone I might tell about your after-office-hours activities. Mayor Mills can’t be affiliated with the likes of-”

 

Regina cut her off with what looked to be very close to the extreme side of the dial. He stood there motionlessly as the poor girl screamed and spasmed, pulling at her restraints.

 

“Regina…” He said. Her face was completely focused on Belle’s, a scowl on her lips, “Regina, stop, you’re going to fry her brain!”

 

Like a pouting child she relented, clicking the machine off.

 

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” she assured Belle, patting her on the head before going to leave. Hook hesitated, his eyes still on the dark-haired beauty.

 

She was giggling to herself relentlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes flicked towards him, completely vacant as if she had retreated into herself. The Dark One could go die in an acid bath, but this woman’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

He turned to pursue Regina, waiting until they had left the girl behind to speak, “She has a point. Why press for more weaknesses when you know she IS one?”

 

“Just trying to get the most out of my investment,” she said coolly, “Anyway, it makes for good press. Mayor not only taking interest in a victim of abuse, but sheltering them? It’s downright charitable of me. Speaking of, you don’t plan on coming to my charity gala next week, right?”

 

“I have better things to do,” he promised. 

 

However, he could think of a pair that would be interested in dropping by.

 

II

 

For six months, Rumplestiltskin felt like a man again. Belle remained in his keep, a handful of starlight to ward off the darkness. She let the world believe that she was a hostage as she kept his castle in order, stealing away to little nooks to read when he was busy. She paid no mind to his work or to the company that visited, continuing on as if there was no crime lord over for tea. He could have easily been projecting, but he was pretty sure she was happy too.

 

She told him everything about her; she invited herself into his bed. She let him touch and explore and take, and with that came an even deeper devotion than he had already had for the woman who showed him kindness while the rest of the world regarded him as a monster.

 

He immediately picked up on her restlessness as they approached the end of their half-a-versary of freedom, and he feared his days of bliss were numbered. When he caught her staring out the window one night instead of at the book in her lap, he knew he had to comment.

 

“Something the matter, dearie?” He asked from the comfort of their bed. 

 

She sighed and shook her head, stepping down from the sill and setting the book aside, “It’s nothing…”

 

“My interpersonal instincts might be a tad rusty, but isn’t “it’s nothing” code for “it’s a big something”?”

 

Belle rewarded his joke with a small smile, going to sit on the bed. It took what scraps of pride he still had to keep from crawling towards her, automatically gravitating towards the center of his world. She bit her lip before finally looking at him.

 

“I’m worried about my father.” That’s right, she had one of those… And she even liked him. She took his silence as a cue to continue, “You see, after my mother died I’m the only family he has. I know he’s been worried sick but…” She trailed off, and even if he’d been given a multiple choice style menu to pick from he doubted he’d choose correctly what she was thinking.

 

Pins and needles seemed to press into his innards at the thought of sharing his treasure. But he couldn’t deny her such a reasonable request, such a  _ human _ request. 

 

He drew in a long breath, bracing himself, “...then you should visit him.”

 

Belle did a double-take and Rumplestiltskin carefully crafted his features to resemble something close to casual. She gave him the sweetest smile in return.

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Course I mean it,” he scoffed, “I don’t want you moping about because I didn’t let you run out and say “hi” real quick.”

 

She rocked forward and kissed him, and it felt just as magical as the first time. “You want me to be happy,” she teased.

 

He wrinkled his nose, “Well… I don’t want you  _ unhappy _ .”

 

She giggled and went to push him back against the bed, swinging a leg over to straddle him, “You make me  _ very _ not-unhappy,” she assured him.

 

He clung to those words as she prepared to leave the next day, and he reminded himself of them as he waited for her at the window to return. He made her very not-unhappy; surely that meant she wouldn’t leave for good. Surely that meant she loved him, like he loved her.

 

Belle didn’t look back once she was outside the formidable stone mansion that very much  _ could _ pass as a Dark Castle; she doubted she could bear the sight of seeing him watching her leave. It had been hard enough when she had been getting ready; putting her hair up, wearing a hoodie, generally just trying not to advertise the fact that the lone survivor of the Enchanted Forest massacre was going out on the town. 

 

Despite his act of nonchalance, she could sense his fear. Honestly it could be why she had put this off for so long, or maybe she hoped with enough time passing her father would accept her decision to stay with Rumple. Or maybe she had just been avoiding the rest of the world in favor of the seclusion being the Dark One’s “hostage” had offered. He certainly had no shortage of books...

 

She took the Cadillac that sat mostly forgotten in the garage, driving out of the foothills and to the metropolis that was Storybrooke. She was careful to avoid the main roads, though she had no idea if it made a difference. She was less concerned with traffic cams spotting her and more concerned with them catching the license plate numbers; how did one register a car for a super villain? 

 

Maybe the media had moved on; assumed she was dead or simply found another scandal to move onto. She could only imagine what they had said about the poor defenseless woman being used as a meat shield… The few pages they knew of her and Rumple’s story.

 

The area Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership resided in wasn't one of the busier ones, especially this time of night. She parked a few blocks away just to be safe, hoping her father hadn’t called it an early night. She practiced what she was going to say to him as she walked. _Hello, Papa…_ _Hey Papa… I know it’s been awhile. I’m sure you’ve been worried but I’ve been alright, more than alright…_

 

_ Papa, I love- _

 

She was startled from her thoughts by someone knocking into her.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

 

“It’s alright,” she mumbled, hardly thinking twice about it as she tried to keep going.

 

A well-manicured hand rested on her shoulder, keeping her from walking away, “...is that you, Miss French?”

 

Her blood chilled as she turned towards the speaker. She had never paid too much attention to the politics of Storybrooke growing up; mostly she had just listened to her father’s muttering about the corruption of the Mills family all her life, and it seemed like no matter who went up against them they always still won the election. But then as she stayed in Rumple’s keep, she started noticing how often Regina came to call on him, and the sorts of people who came with her. 

 

“Mayor Mills,” she gave her an awkward smile, “Nice to see you…”

 

“And nice to see  _ you _ ,” Her saccharine grin didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Is he letting you out now?”

 

“For errands. Surprised to see you around here.”

 

“Needed some fresh air, stretch my legs. Can I walk with you?”

 

No. No she absolutely didn’t want to walk with this wolf in sheepskin clothing. But before Belle could really object, Regina had her arm entwined with hers and was steering the both of them along the direction Belle had been heading.

 

“He’s quite fond of you,” she mused, “Then again he must be, keeping you around, letting you see behind the curtain of Storybrooke…”

 

“What curtain?”

 

Regina’s grip tightened on her arm, “Oh, you  _ know _ … How it  _ really _ is.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re inferring.”

 

Belle cringed as Regina stopped, twisting around to face her, “Don’t play me for a fool… You may have pretended to be reading during our meetings, but I know better than to believe that charade.”

 

“You flatter yourself, Mayor Mills; you nor any of his business associates are all that interesting,” she tried to brush past her, “I’m a glorified maid, that’s it.”

 

She was honestly a little surprised when Regina let her, her grip sliding off like water off a duck’s feather.

 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she called over her shoulder, “We could work together, help each other out.”

 

Belle rolled her eyes, “No thanks. I prefer the devil I know to the one that just so “happens” to bump into me at night.”

 

The fact Regina let her go without another word should have been a warning.

 

She didn’t have to double-check the address; a hanging glowing sign announced that this was the antiquities dealership Rumple had jotted down, her father’s new place of business. No light came from inside, the shades were drawn, and when she checked the hours she saw she had just missed closing. But maybe he was still in the back...

 

She circled around to the alley beside it and spotted a back door. There were still no lights on but she tried the doorknob anyway. Locked. She sighed; all of those precautions and mental speech drafts for nothing. She’d have to catch him some other time.

 

Snarls reverberated from one brick wall to the other. Belle turned to see three shadows at the mouth of the alley, blocking her exit.

 

“You really should’ve gotten me that book, darling.” The tallest drawled, before snapping her fingers and pointing at Belle. Her sidekicks immediately charged, their barks booming across the distance.

 

Belle twisted around to flee, knocking into a trash can. She recovered and sprinted, continuing even when she saw it was a dead end. 

 

“HELP!” She screamed, trying to find something to stand on to scale the fence, “HELP ME, SOMEONE, PLEASE!”

 

The first clamped its jaws around her calf and pulled her leg out from underneath her. She hit the cement with a hard thud and tried to kick free, but that only seemed to excite the dog more. She went to claw at its face when the second caught her forearm in its mouth. She screamed as they pulled in opposite directions, playing tug-o-war with her body and shaking her about as if she were just a stuffed animal left in a puppy’s reach.

 

They raked at her skin, chomping at new parts of her body and trying to rip the meat right off her bones. It was all Belle could do to scream and hope somebody, anybody would save her before she bled out.

 

The only person who heard her cries was Cruella, who watched in grotesque fascination. Belle wavered in and out of consciousness, her wails turning into quiet sobs and half-thought prayers.

 

She heard Cruella make a call over the sounds of the Rottweilers’ snuffling and growling. She stared at a pool of her own blood as pain rang through her.

 

“Alright, she’s exactly where you want her… Yes, Jasper and Horace were good boys and did their jobs… Are you sure I can’t let them kill her? ...what makes you think he still cares, he let her go.”

 

It was because he let her go that she knew he cared. She squeezed her eyes shut as the stupid mutts started clawing at her face, trying to get a rise out of her. 

 

The last thing she heard before she finally passed out was Cruella accusing the person on the other end of the line for being tacky in deciding to have a shrimp hors d'oeuvre served at her gala. 

 

III

 

_ “One pill makes you larger, aaaaaand one pill makes you small. And the ones that… Mother gives you. Don’t doooo anything. At allllll.” _

 

He hated that fucking song, and should’ve long ago taken it off the jukebox, but he’d sooner gouge his own tongue out before giving Chelsea Catone the satisfaction. Her entire life revolved around tormenting whatever patron dared to venture into the Rabbit Hole, and himself if he wasn’t careful. The regulars had long since gotten used to her, then again most of his regulars had their own annoying ticks that they inflicted on whoever was unlucky enough to engage them.

 

It really wasn’t surprising that his customers tended to be a little off; he was in the heart of the party district known (only somewhat ironically) as Wonderland. Left to its own devices for the most part, at least it was cheap to live in… It had been perfect in his younger years, and he’d been so excited to take over and reinvent this bar. Now the surrealistic design and technicolors gave him a headache.

 

He probably wouldn’t have paid any mind to the next fool who stumbled in if the entire Rabbit Hole didn’t freeze. The crack of table croquet stopped, and not because of the twins breaking out into a fight. Catherine’s stream of vapor leaked past her lips instead of in the rings and figures she liked to practice. The absurd confusing drinking game that was like musical chairs on crack ended as the line of racers crashed into one another.

 

Jefferson took one look at the arrival and sighed, “Alright, everyone out.”

 

He’d never seen all those misfits listen at the same time before. Such was the fear of the Dark One.

 

“You too, dormouse,” he flipped Grace’s textbook closed.

 

She turned away from her staring and gave him a pointed look, “You said I can stay down here if I did my homework.”

 

“And you also know I have Daddy Veto Powers. Go upstairs, now.”

 

“Listen to your father.”

 

Grace was startled to see the Dark One in all his glittering glory suddenly standing beside her at the bar. He stared back at her, raising an eyebrow. She grabbed her book, slid off her stool and disappeared through the “Hatters Only” door. 

 

Rumplestiltskin took her seat, folding his arms on the bar. Jefferson crossed his. 

 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again,” he muttered.

 

“I thought that was a hyperbole,” he mumbled, his eyes wandering towards “Hatters Only”, “...she’s grown up quite a bit.”

 

“Yeah… Went by too fast,” he said. 

 

The Dark One shrugged, “At least she got her looks from her mother.”

 

“You going to order something or not, you scaly bastard?”

 

“Whatever you have that’s strong.”

Jefferson went over to his wall of liquors, grabbing and pouring like a painter with his palette, “It’s been what, eight, nine years, and tonight you just wander in without warning?”

 

“I was in the neighborhood,” he claimed, claws scratching at the table’s varnish, “...seeing if Cora was in.”

 

Jefferson’s grip tightened on the glass, looking ready to hurl it at him, “What the fuck. Did you not learn your lesson?”

 

“Ew, not like that.” He waved off the notion, “Like in an intelligence gathering way. But it doesn’t matter, she wasn’t in.”

 

“And what information could you possibly need THAT badly?”

 

His face crumpled and Jefferson almost regretted asking. He hadn’t seen lizard eyes that sad since… Well, ever, he guessed.

 

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, leaning in as Jefferson set down his drink, “…have you ever been in love before?” He just about whispered.

 

Jefferson gave a small smile and nodded, “Yeah, once. You took her seat.”

 

“But never the romantic sort?” He continued, “Where you’re just…sitting, minding your own business, and a butterfly lands on your arm. It’s so delicate, and perfect… You’re terrified to move, terrified to breathe, lest the moment end and it flits away. Touching it, tainting its purity… Feels wrong. But you want to… Need to…”

 

No, he hadn’t felt that way towards Grace’s mother; she had been a fun fling that had ended in tragedy. Grace was the only butterfly in his life and as far as he could see she’d remain the only one. Purity was in short supply in the circles he ran in… And he’d do whatever he could to protect his little dormouse.

 

Rumplestiltskin downed his drink and set the glass back on the table, tapping at the rim as if trying to crack it, “…I’d settle for just knowing she’s alright,” he murmured. 

 

Jefferson frowned, “...I can put feelers out. Who is it?”

 

The Dark One’s attention was diverted by the small television he kept in the corner for Grace to watch cartoons. For some reason it had been switched to the local news channel, and it looked like a young lady was speaking to a group of reporters at a press conference. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. 

 

“...with Mayor Mills’ help I have been recovering from my incident, and I hope with some more time I will be able to move past what happened…”

 

The bartender frowned, recognizing her, “Is that-”

 

His voice was cut off by a choking sensation, Rumple’s hand held up in a clenching motion as he stared enraptured by the screen.

 

Erzabel French continued, her words hollow as she read from something on the podium, “This is my first public appearance since my…abduction. I hope to continue to heal and eventually go back to being the woman I was before.” There was a pause, a glance away from the written speech, “I look forward to the Everyday Heroes Gala, Mayor Mills’ annual fundraiser for the Neverland Foster Center.”

 

She stepped away from the podium and polite applause followed before Regina took the stage again and went on her usual anti-crime tirade.

 

Jefferson gasped as Rumplestiltskin released his hold, giggling.

 

“My clever Belle. Clever, clever Belle,” he trilled, sliding off the stool, “You’ve been a great help Jeffy, we should double-date some time.”

 

He glanced between the television and the Dark One’s retreating back, rapidly trying to catch up. Of course he didn’t want to believe whatever propaganda Regina was spewing this week… But he couldn’t deny that the closest thing he had to a best friend was extremely unstable. That wasn’t even touching the idea Rumple was a victim of some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome…

 

“Are you going after her?” He asked.

 

The Dark One considered his question, head tilting to the side, “Yes, I’m going to make her suffer… Suffer more than she ever knew was possible. She’ll be begging for death by the time I’m through with her,” he glanced over his shoulder, “Unless you’re talking about Belle, then not yet. I don’t even know what I’d wear!”

 

He giggled, slipping out of the Rabbit Hole. Maybe if he liked Regina better, or maybe if he thought Rumplestiltskin was capable of rape, he would’ve tried harder to stop him. Instead he turned the television off and noticed the empty glass.

 

Bastard didn’t pay his tab. Could pull gold out of his ass, but apparently preferred drinking and dashing.

 

III

 

Henry knew the drill by now; his main job was to stay out of the way while everyone else set up for the night’s party. Bored, he watched the small army prepare for battle against the…what was the word Neal had used? The bushwa? The upper class, basically the royalty of Storybrooke.

 

Only some of them were actual royalty though, at least from what he could figure out. It was like playing detective, but he had to be very careful about getting new clues. Most people thought he was crazy, but they were just cursed. He was the only believer, but Neal seemed to want to believe.

 

The world couldn’t really be like this, Henry insisted. It couldn’t really let the bad guys win while the good guys were screwed over. That just wasn’t right.

 

“It wasn’t bold, it was brash.”

 

The voice sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. He quickly ducked into the nearest room, leaving the door open a crack. Sure enough, his mom and grandmother stepped into view, raven black and blood red.

 

What kind of crummy luck did he have, with the Evil Queen being his mother and the Queen of Hearts being his grandmother?

 

Cora turned towards her daughter, her bright lips pulled into a frown, “You’re antagonizing him.”

 

“I’m making a statement,” Regina folded her arms, facing her mother head on, “It’s an open secret how he feels about her… And now she’s in my possession. Soon enough he’ll know it too.”

 

“And he’ll destroy you if you aren’t careful.”

 

Regina scoffed, “Coming from the woman who boasts about how she outsmarted him.”

 

“Because I knew what I was doing. You, however, don’t.” She reached out and rested a hand on Regina’s shoulder, and Henry tensed up as if she were touching him, “I say this because I love you. Turn this around; offer her to him. Blame the puppy butcher for the attack.”

 

“No,” she brushed the hand off of her, “He needs to know that I’m not his apprentice anymore. This is my city, and he’s just another criminal I need to keep under my thumb.”

 

“Regina-“

 

“Mother,” she cut her off, “You had your terms as mayor. Now it’s my turn. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.”

 

Cora’s mouth twitched, clearly wanting to continue the argument. Instead she gave a tight smile, “Yes dear.”

 

Henry slowly, quietly closed the door. He didn’t want to listen anymore about evil plans, especially ones where the Dark One would be coming after his mother. As bad as she was, everyone seemed to think he was worse. And a beast without his beauty…

 

A derisive snort warned Henry he wasn’t alone.

 

He nearly jumped out of his skin, twisting around to see where the noise had come from. In the corner like a forgotten doll, their “guest” sat, back against the wall and legs spread out in front of her. Her long curls hung from her bent head but he could still see her smirk and vacant eyes. A book was in her lap as if she had been reading, but she looked as posed and lifeless as a marionette.

 

Her head slowly lifted and her eyes flicked up. They sat in silence, regarding each other, until he finally spoke.

 

“So you’re Belle.”

 

She mulled over the statement for a moment, “I suppose I am… I don’t feel very Belle-like right now, though.”

 

“Maybe it’s because you’re not with your Beast,” he offered.

 

“Maybe,” she said, in that gentle adult “no but I’m not going to treat you like an idiot” way.

 

Maybe the Evil Queen had stolen her heart, and that’s why she looked like a cracked porcelain doll, one more fall away from breaking.

III

 

It wasn’t the first time Emma had ever seen Neal in a monkey suit, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But there was definitely something to be said about his innate ability to pull off a three-piece. It was like seeing the boy-next-door skater punk suddenly on the cover of GQ adjusting his cuff links. He glanced up at the uneven click of her heels and took her in.

 

“You clean up nice, Girl Wonder,” he commented.

 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

 

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret gushed, unable to keep from brushing stray strands back into her up-do and smooth creases that came from something as simple as walking from the bathroom to the Autoswan, “You look stunning… I knew that dress would look lovely on you.”

 

“Thanks Mary Margaret,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed.

 

Eventually her assistant stopped fussing over her, standing back and glancing between the pair, “I feel like I should be taking pictures of you while Neal slides a corsage on your wrist.”

 

“As great as smuggling a flask of peppermint schnapps in sounds, I don’t think “prom” is the theme Regina’s going with.”

 

The trio made their way to the garage where Emma’s baby sat. It was a goofy stretched-out Bug painted bright yellow, modified to at least attempt to look like the sort of sports car a celebrity would have. But Emma hadn’t let her technician go too crazy; yellow bugs were special to her and Neal and besides, no one suspected Herbie’s drunk cousin of being anything more than tacky and fuel-efficient.

 

The Autoswan’s twin doors rose Delorean-style and Emma followed Neal around to the passenger’s side. Mary Margaret paused for a moment, then gleefully clapped her hands together.

 

“I can text David to come up here and he can give the Overprotective Dad Speech!”

 

“NO!” They snapped in unison. Mary Margaret pouted as she slid into the driver’s seat, Neal taking the passenger’s and Emma getting into the back.

 

The ride to Regina’s estate was quiet, and shorter than Emma would’ve liked. Not that she wanted to get there after shit had gone down, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to schmoozing the other socialites while she waited for the explosions. She wasn’t a great schmoozer to begin with and every one of these events came with the mild threat of her offending  _ someone _ she shouldn’t have because she was a little too blunt.

 

Mary Margaret had tried her best to teach her the ways of the upper class, but Emma was starting to think it was something you either got or you didn’t. It wasn’t her style to sweep things under the rug.

 

She pulled up to the beginning of the expansive walkway that led up to Regina’s mansion, twisting around in her seat and looking at both of them in turn, “Now don’t have too much fun you two. I have a novel I’d like to finish reading, and honestly I don’t much feel like having to carry your unconscious bodies out of a burning building.”

 

“Yes, Mary Margaret.” They drawled in unison. The doors rose and Neal slid out, offering his hand to Emma. She took it and let him help steady her.

 

Time to enter the fray.

 

As she suspected, there were tons of press lurking near the mansion’s entrance, swarming each new arrival like ants on dropped fruit. Neal stayed a step behind, keeping an eye on the crowd while Emma picked and chose the snippets of interviews she’d engage in.

 

Yes, she was excited to be here, supporting this worthy cause that was close to her heart. Why yes, Neverland  _ was _ where she had grown up, and she wished it wasn’t as crowded as it was. Every child deserved a chance to grow up in a safe environment, and sadly most of the adolescents were all but forgotten when it came time for adop- Who made her dress? She’d have to ask her personal assistant, haha. Yes, still single. Please excuse her, and have a lovely evening.

 

Rinse. Repeat. Until she was finally inside and could breathe for a moment.

 

“Is it the blonde hair? Or do I just have “bimbo” written on my chest?” She vented as Neal stepped into his more natural position at her side, “Seriously, you’ll never hear them ask a male CEO if he’s thinking about starting a family.”

 

“It’s the lack of suits,” he insisted, “I keep telling you that.”

 

“I shouldn’t have to wear a suit to remind them of my position,” she protested, glancing around. This might’ve been a living room in a standard house, but she didn’t see any furniture that suggested what this giant place was used for when parties weren’t being thrown. Right now it seemed to be the church foyer, a place for meeting and greeting before heading into the main event.

 

“So what’s our game plan?” He asked, lowering his voice.

 

“We find Regina,” Emma said simply, “She doesn’t take a step without us knowing about it. Where she is, I’m sure the Dark One will follow.”

 

“Sensible enough,” Neal scanned the crowd, “Bet she’s in the ballroom.”

 

“I’ll go check it out,” she offered, “You should scout for the catering trays.”

 

“You want your bodyguard to abandon you for snacks?”

 

“What, I’m hungry,” she raised an eyebrow, “Do you really care how you earn your paycheck?”

 

“I just really hope nothing happens in the five minutes it’ll take me to hunt it down. I’m pretty sure it’s Emma Charming writing my checks, NOT the Charming Corporation,” he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around, “...I bet she sprung for the good stuff. You know, for the orphans.”

 

With that epiphany Neal was off, weaving his way through the crowd. Emma smiled to herself, because he was being so  _ Neal _ in that moment, but it immediately vanished when she noticed a man with a cane staring after him as if he were witnessing the second coming of Christ. 

 

There was something very familiar about the man and yet Emma’s mind was drawing a blank at a name. He looked as though he belonged there in his tailored suit and his kept appearance, but the other patrons had given him a surreal berth. An island in the middle of a sea of people, only his eyes moving as he watched after Neal. They stayed fixed for a moment and then, reluctantly, they broke away.

 

He didn’t seem to see her at first; more like stared through her. But his dark eyes came back into focus and he gave her a humorless smirk. 

 

“Miss Swan,” he mouthed across the distance.

 

Emma’s heart raced. If it had been any other random surname she would’ve brushed it off as him confusing her with some other blonde in a dress. But paranoia about her crime-stopping activities refused to let her just dismiss it. She cut through the distance, keeping her sights straight on him.

 

And yet, as she got within whisper-hissing range, he vanished as if he had taken the opportunity of a blink to disappear. 

 

Regina was pleased with the turnout, she decided as she looked over the ocean of influence that flooded the ballroom. The band swelled over the multitude of conversations and slowly pairs started to dance. She stood above them, on a platform near the pledge table where she thanked each additional donation that the attendees offered. At this rate they might actually be able to do something about that old orphanage, and she wouldn’t just be spouting empty promises.

 

Assuming some miscreant wouldn’t force her to use it as hush money. Try as she might, it seemed like that was where the majority of Storybrooke’s funding went to. Maybe she should consider cracking down on readmittance to the Enchanted Forest…

 

...honestly the little hostage might be the first one she sent. She may have pushed the poor thing too hard in their sessions; it seemed like something had snapped and disconnected her from the rest of the world. The whole evening she hadn’t even tried leaving her side, staring vacantly across the room, shifting her focus every so often so as to not be mistaken for a mannequin. 

 

Regina was wondering if she had been wrong, that Rumple really didn’t care about the asylum librarian, though she’d never admit it to her mother. For such a powerful being, he sure was taking his time.

 

She frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Henry in awhile. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten into any trouble, what with the mixed company of the honest and corrupt socialites. Maybe he had disappeared back to his room to read that book of his (which, by the way, she did NOT look like the illustration of the Evil Queen). 

 

Another man wrote down his name, contact, billing information and the amount he was giving so he could sign off on it on next year’s tax return. From the emphatic thank yous of the volunteers manning the table it must’ve been a fairly impressive amount. Regina plastered a smile on her face and turned to greet the man. 

 

“Thank you so much for your donation, Mr. …?”

 

“Gold,” he said, shaking the offered hand.

 

“How fitting,” she joked.

 

Beside her, the blue-eyed puppet stirred.

 

“Well I like to do what I can for children in unfortunate circumstances.” The words rolled off his tongue with a delightfully thick brogue, “Seems odd that the previous Mayor Mills isn’t here tonight, or have I just missed her?”

 

Regina’s smile tightened, her teeth clenching momentarily, “Unfortunately my mother couldn’t make it,” she lied. Cora hadn’t  _ wanted _ to make it tonight, claiming she wasn’t in the mood for the masquerade.

 

Or she thought the event would flop, even though Regina had been doing this for five years now.

 

“That’s a pity,” he said, his thumb running over the grooves of his cane’s handle, “...honestly I was hoping that your partner might honor me with a dance.”

 

It took her a few moments to realize he meant  _ Belle _ . She glanced to her side, trying to see her through an outsider’s perspective. Belle seemed equally surprised, sizing up the man.

 

“Well I suppose it’s up to her,” Regina admitted, “Belle?” It would free her up to go make a quick tour of the room, see if she could find Henry…

 

Her voice cracked as if she hadn’t spoken in a week, “...alright.” 

 

Mr. Gold grinned, “Excellent.” He offered his hand to her and she took it, letting herself be led away from Regina.

 

Elsewhere, Emma was also scanning the room, half looking for Regina, half looking for the creep who might’ve been hinting at her vigilante pseudonym but had definitely been gaping at Neal. There wasn’t much in the way of raised platforms in the room except for where the band was playing and where donations were being accepted (as if the tickets weren’t pricey enough). She dodged conversations as politely as she could, playing with the bracelet on her wrist and thinking maybe she should’ve field-tested it before tonight. 

 

“Good evening, Miss Charming.”

 

She turned to see who was addressing her...and then looked down when she heard giggles. 

 

“Hey kid,” she greeted Henry, looking him up and down, “Look at you in your little monkey suit…”

 

“I know, Mom made me wear it,” he explained, “I like your dress, it’s pretty.”

 

“Mary Margaret made me wear it,” she joked. 

 

He rocked up onto the balls of his feet, “Do you wanna dance?”

 

She looked at him dubiously, “Do you even know how?”

 

“No,” he admitted, “But you can teach me.”

 

“But I don’t know how either.” She scanned the room again, but unless Regina was wearing 12-inch heels she wasn’t going to spot her that easily, “We could always try to get the electric slide going.”

 

“What’s the electric slide?” He asked.

 

“A relative of the cupid shuffle. Come on, we’re going to need room for this…”

 

Rumple’s mind felt as if someone had taken his skull and shaken it like a snowglobe, but he forced himself to focus. Forced himself to remember to limp, to go first to the donation table instead of grabbing his Belle immediately and taking her away. He saw her heeled to Regina, and he wanted to destroy the Mayor.

 

Instead, he made small talk to ensure Cora wouldn’t be a problem. Regina didn’t notice anything amiss about his request to dance with Miss French. 

 

His precious, precious Belle… She was so far retreated into herself it was like no one was home. Her gold silk dress, laced with rhinestones, cut in such a tempting way… Her long brown curls cascading over her pale shoulders, blue eyes staring.

 

They started to focus on him and he could see she was trying to place him. His heart thrilled at the fact he was showing her that she didn’t have to put up with crocodile chic; he could look nice and ordinary for her, be seen in public with her, have everyone stare at her beauty instead of his beastliness like she deserved.

 

Lightning shot through his blood when she took his hand, and he led her deep into the mob. No one took notice of his prop cane disappearing, not even his precious Belle. He turned to face her when they were in the dead center of the room, unclasping her hand to rest both of his on her hips.

 

She stared up at him as her own rested on his shoulders, her brow knitting together, “I know you,” she murmured.

 

He nodded, maybe a little more enthusiastically than called for, “You do...you do,” he promised.

 

A new song began and they swayed, eyes locked. He didn’t dare miss a moment, even if her gaze was powerful enough to make the Dark One shy away. 

 

“You came for me,” she stated.

 

“Of course I did.”

 

“Why?”

 

He frowned, “Because I had to. What other choice is there?”

 

The tempo picked up and Belle moved closer, closing the chaste distance between them. Her nails dug into his shoulders, chin trembling, “Why did you wait so long?”

 

“I’m sorry. If I had known there was a problem I wouldn’t have wasted that first night. I looked in all the wrong places, thinking a woman who ran a city would have more brains than to touch you.”

 

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts pressed against him. He held her tightly, feeling their hips move in sync with each step and twist. They writhed as one, the strings of the music swelling and climbing in time with each turn. 

 

Tears spilled out, “I’m not the same. Something’s...broken.”

 

“Dearie dearie dear,” he cooed, “You will never be broken. Only a little chipped.”

 

She fisted his hair in her hand, forcing his head down to meet her mouth at the song’s crescendo. Their teeth clacked together, and they were both kissing as though it was all that could save them. Their bodies stilled, clinging to each other while their lips said everything words failed to. He felt the glamour slipping but couldn’t summon a damn, the magic peeling back the mask to expose what he truly was. Belle’s hand squeezed as crimps rippled along the formerly straight hair.

 

She pulled away and he opened his eyes, ready for her disgust. Her face split into a wide grin, bringing back his true love as she started to cry and stroke his ugly glittery cheeks.

 

“It is you,” she said emphatically, “My beastie.”

 

He pulled her back into a tight embrace, feeling his own sobs spill out. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her, mixing with her tears of joy. The other guests were starting to notice the transformation and were retreating as far as they could from the couple. Rumple felt the beginnings of panic and reveled in it.

 

He leaned close to Belle’s ear, his voice a deep growl, “What would you have me do, my beauty?”

 

Still laughing, still crying, she exclaimed, “Burn it. Burn. It. Down!”

 

As much as she would’ve liked to forget why she was there, Emma couldn’t. While she smiled and laughed as she and Henry cut a rug off to the side of the main party, she was also keeping an eye on the donation table Regina and Belle were hovering by. Chained pet or bait? Either way, Belle being stuck to Regina’s side was alarming, and not just because of the mayor’s sheer arrogance. The woman she had met in the hospital didn’t seem particularly passive, despite the mental conditioning the Dark One had put her through.

 

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

 

Emma turned to her dance partner, whose face was uncharacteristically emotionless.

 

“I think you’ve got some crazy moves,” she said, sidestepping the question. He stared her down and she relented, “I think...we all have our way of coping with things.”

 

Like how she dressed up and fought criminals. Not the healthiest but a coping mechanism nonetheless. 

 

The way he looked at her, with the quiet solemnity of a sentenced prisoner, told her that her tactful answer wasn't what he needed to hear.

 

“That's alright if you don't believe,” he murmured, “The hero rarely does at first, or else it wouldn't be much of a story. But you'll see… Your parents gave you up because they had to.”

 

The scabs over her heart felt like they had been picked off with his words. How many times had she told herself the same lies? And with the grand reveal of her origins it only seemed more likely that she had just been an inconvenience, that she hadn't been tragically ripped from their arms and lost or whatever other story she had concocted to comfort herself. 

 

Henry, bless him, was still young enough to believe that where he came from was better than where he was as a Mills.

 

She reached out and took him in her arms, holding him the way she wish she had been held when she had gotten lonely. He hugged her back, generously not complaining about the beadwork pressing into his face. The world was theirs for a moment, two lost children finding solace with each other.

 

Then the screams started.

 

Emma turned to see the crowd clawing away from the center, desperate for the doors. They shut and locked without explanation. There was a single pair of giggles weaving through the growing hysteria, manic and pleased. A split second glimpse between passing bodies showed the Dark One had appeared in the middle of it all, dressed to the nines and clutching some poor woman. Was that-

 

The curtains caught fire, and the tablecloths. The potted plants and decorations went up next, including a giant “welcome” banner. Equipment started to explode and the poor musicians went flying.

 

The panic only grew, and people were starting to shove and barrel through. Emma shielded Henry with her body, rushing him to one of the fallen speakers.

 

“Hide behind this,” she said, “I’ll come back for you.”

 

Wild eyes looked up at her as she pulled away from him, “What about my mom?!”

 

“I’ll get her out too, just stay out of the way.”

 

The smoke was thickening, only sending the trapped into a larger frenzy. Even in this chaos she couldn't switch personas, and hoped Neal was in a better position.

 

She covered her mouth and nose, one look telling her she wasn't getting anywhere near the door. The windows though… Some of the men were using chairs to try and break them, but there were openings. She ran across the room, fidgeting with her ring. The diamond rotated in its setting, a sharp point of it now protruding. The layperson, had they been watching, might've thought Emma punched the glass with her bare fist, but it was the diamond edge that met with the window. A spiderweb of cracks formed, reaching to beyond Emma's height, and when she pulled the ring out the shards of glass rained down, leaving an adequate gap.

 

“Hurry!” She yelled, shepherding whoever she could find to the opening. Gratefully they poured out onto the mayor's lawn, running as far as they needed to for safety. She coughed and blinked back tears, but refused to leave until she could no longer see any stragglers.

 

She stumbled to where she had left Henry and found him, his head turtled into his dress shirt. She tried to pick him up but she couldn't, he was too big.

 

“HENRY!” She shouted, but either he had passed out or he was too frozen to comply, “Henry you gotta help me buddy…”

 

A second pair of arms joined hers and when she looked up, she looked into the determined eyes of her partner. 

 

“I’ve got him!” He yelled and Emma let go. Neal scooped him up into a fireman's carry and rushed towards the escape, Emma only a step behind.

 

She gulped in air as they hit the outdoors, neither of them stopping until they were well clear of it. Neal bent to set Henry down, checking him over.

 

Emma took a quick survey of the group who were standing nearby, trying to come to terms with the sudden sequence of events and watching the mayor's home slowly go up in flames. Without a head count Emma couldn't tell for certain who all they were missing… But there was at least one obvious person who wasn’t out.

 

Before she could make it two steps Neal had grabbed her arm.

 

“Regina's still in there!” She protested, “She could be stuck!”

 

“You’re not going back into that death trap!” He snapped.

 

Emma tried to break free. Neal twisted her around to face him, “You know what my job is, right?”

 

“To protect me…” She muttered.

 

“To protect you,” he agreed, “And sometimes that means I gotta save you from your own stupid self.”

 

“I promised Henry,” she defended weakly.

 

Neal didn't budge, “I’m sure she'll make it out. Cockroaches survive practically anything, right?”

 

Emma couldn't even fake a laugh. She stared helplessly at where she had been dancing not that long ago. Regina may have been a heartless narcissistic diva… But she didn't deserve to go out like that.

 

Regina's evening might have been literally going up in flames around her, but all she could hear was her mother's “I told you so”. As the fire continued to eat up her home, she attempted to focus enough to conjure water to try and put it out. All she could manage was wind, which only exacerbated the problem. 

 

If she didn't know any better, she would think it was a coincidence that the fire was pressing her farther away from the exits and deep into one of the corners. She wondered if he was going to kill her. She knew it had to be him, and not just a bad wiring job. Her mind turned to Henry. Oh god Henry…

 

The fire stopped its advance and even the smoke kept a respectful distance. The curtain of flames parted and her former hostage stepped through, the gold dress shimmering as though she herself was on fire.

 

“They say Emperor Nero played the fiddle while Rome burned around him,” she remarked calmly. Behind her Regina could see the Dark One, the ordinary suit a jarring contrast from his glittering complexion. He paced back and forth, his eyes fixed on her predatorily, “Most historians today disagree; Nero wasn’t even in Rome at the time. But that’s not nearly as compelling an image, is it?”

 

Belle walked closer and Regina pressed herself against the wall, causing a sinister giggle to slip out of the brunette.

 

“You’d know all about propaganda though, wouldn’t you? Exaggerating and lying to make a sensational story, working it to your advantage...”

 

“His brainwashing was not my doing,” Regina protested, “You can’t blame me for that.”

 

All it took was a glance and suddenly Rumple was at her throat, choking her and snarling like the rabid animal he was. She clawed at his hand, unable to breathe.

 

“From the moment I stepped into the Dark Castle I haven’t done a thing that I didn’t want to do,” Belle insisted, “Which is more than I can say since coming back from the hospital with you.”

 

“Please,” Rumple hissed, “Pleasepleasepleaseprettyprettypleasewithsugarontopletmeripherthroatout.”

 

Silence filled the small battlefield. Regina tried to look past her hate-filled mentor, to the woman she was beginning to feel she had underestimated, but Rumplestiltskin refused, forcing her to look into his eyes. He loathed her for this, and clearly wanted that hatred to be the last thing Regina ever saw.

 

“No.”

Rumple’s face scrunched up, “But…but poopsie-kins… She deserves to die.”

 

“Yes, she does,” Belle agreed, “But I’d much rather her live and know that her comfortable ivory tower is going to come crashing down one day. I want her to exist to fear our retribution, to wake up every day wondering what on earth is in store for her.”

 

He trilled at her words, looking over his shoulder, “Have you always been this devious, dearie?”

 

“Yes, so don’t cross me. Now I’m tired, hungry, in need of a hot shower and a hard fuck. We’ll play with our mouse later.”

 

Regina was dropped like a piece of trash, and the Dark One pranced over to his mistress’s side. She took his hand and wrapped the arm around her, nestling into him as intimately as any couple. The fire’s smoke pillared around them, growing thicker and thicker before it rushed out, putting out the inferno that had once been her ballroom.

 

The ambulances and fire trucks arrived as the inferno mysteriously went out as suddenly as if it was just a candle. Emma looked up from where she had been cradling Henry and sighed in relief at the sight of medics. She wasn’t liking how he was breathing, or how he was pretty out of it, and didn’t have anything on her to help. Neal immediately went to scoop him up again.

 

“He’ll be alright,” he assured Emma, “Kid’s as tough as they get.”

 

“I should have gotten him out first,” she muttered, walking with him to the line that was starting to queue for EMTs.

 

“You got him and everyone else out, that’s what matters.”

 

Ready to contradict him, Mayor Mills stormed towards them, “Miss Charming, Mr. Cassidy, may I ask what you’re doing with my child?”

 

“We’re hoping they’ll use chest compressors on him, ma’am. Otherwise he’s a goner,” Neal deadpanned.

 

Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes, “We were just looking out for him. Not planning on kidnapping him or anything.”

 

Regina opened her mouth but Henry let out a rough cough, glancing towards her, “Mom, you made it out…”

 

The mayor’s demeanor softened, “Well I had to make sure you were okay, didn’t I?”

 

Neal gently set Henry down and he went to hug onto his mother. He looked up at Emma with a reverence that made her insides squeeze together.

 

“You saved us,” he murmured.

 

Emma shrugged, “I guess so,” she admitted.

 

“I knew you were a hero.”

 

And, despite the fact she had saved hundreds of lives before this doomed event, his words warmed her heart.

III

 

“Well that was a waste of time,” Commissioner Lucas declared as she started the patrol car. Her deputy buckled her seatbelt, “Can’t say I feel too sorry for her, and she’s lucky no one died. You hungry, Ruby?”

 

“A little,” she admitted, even if it was 3 in the morning. The fact her grandmother asked her was a formality; cases like this meant the Widow Lucas wasn’t going to sleep, and when she didn’t sleep she went to her favorite haunt, a 24-hour diner called Granny’s.

 

    Ruby had pointed out on several occasions the irony of that being her favorite restaurant, given what Ruby had always called her. The humor was lost on the old wolf.

 

She picked at the fabric of her pants, staring out the window, “…he took her again, the French woman.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We’re going after him this time, aren’t we? We know she’s alive, we can’t just let him get away with, with what he’s doing to her.”

 

The Commissioner was silent, watching the road more than strictly necessary, “…I would have gone after her right away if I could have,” she confessed, “He’d be back in the Enchanted Forest, they all would be. But it’s not that simple.”

 

“Of course it is,” Ruby insisted, “That’s our job, isn’t it? To serve and protect?”

 

“And not be foolish,” she pulled into a parking space, turning off the car and looking at her granddaughter, “I’ve seen the Dark One take out small armies; I’m not sending my men and women on a half-baked suicide mission.”

 

“It really makes it that much better to let someone suffer?”

 

“The needs of the many, Red. You can’t just focus on one person.” She stepped out.

 

Ruby huffed, jamming the release on her seatbelt, “Don’t give me that “childhood nickname” crap; you’re still wrong,” she muttered under her breath.

 

Granny had been in the system too long; she was a regular bureaucrat. They needed a little less pussyfooting and a little more actually doing something to help the people of Storybrooke.

 

She trailed after her grandmother, “You’re gonna be sorry when I work my way up the ladder a bit more and have actual power,” she warned, hopping up on the stool next to her, “Because I won’t just sit on my thumbs and hope for an opening. No ma’am, I’m going to actually-“

 

“Hush.”

 

The severity of the command was harsher than usual, which was saying something. Ruby turned to her only to watch her staring intensely at the napkin dispenser. She tapped a finger against her forearm twice and Ruby glanced in the direction she was “pointing”. Sitting in a booth plain as day was Erzabel French, a little sooty and still in her gala get-up. Outstretched clawed scaly hands showed who was sitting across from her.

 

Belle watched her partner, unable to keep a straight face. Her hands, hovering underneath his, suddenly twisted up to slap his. He was too quick however and pulled them away, causing him to giggle and flail his arms like a small child. They had to take a break from whatever game they were playing when the server dropped off a strawberry shake with, naturally, two straws.

 

It almost looked like a normal couple having a date… If it wasn’t for that pesky arson crime a few hours ago.

 

Ruby reached for her belt but her grandmother rested a hand on her arm.

 

“Granny,” she hissed, “He’s right there, we could end this.”

 

“You’ll get both of us killed.”

 

“Not if I get him first.”

 

Commissioner Lucas looked her in the eye, “You might be going after the victim.”

 

Granny had lost it. There was no way that a woman used as a human shield and held hostage could be the one with the power. But while Granny had her decaf coffee, Ruby watched the pair as much as she could. And while Belle seemed happy, Rumplestiltskin was the one hanging on her every word and movement. 

 


End file.
